


That Ought To Do It

by chickenlivesinpumpkin



Series: It Started in the Shower [9]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Biting, Boys in Skirts, Cross-Dressing-Sort Of, Dirty Talk, Drinking, Frottage, Gender Roles, M/M, Oral Sex, Outdoor Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Public Display of Affection, Rimming, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Humor, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-10
Updated: 2014-07-10
Packaged: 2018-02-08 06:15:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1929828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chickenlivesinpumpkin/pseuds/chickenlivesinpumpkin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Draco have grown up a little in the past four years, but the most important things haven't changed. Well, except for grotesquely overdone PDA, 1950s Muggle housewives, and the perils of doing it "Egyptian Pharaoh" style. </p><p>A little fun and games (okay, smut) that gives a glimpse into where the boys end up, epilogue-style.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Ought To Do It

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. This is for all the people who requested a little more, but especially for Cheshiyre, who is not afraid to throw a helpless clone to the puppies, and Perylee, who whispered in my ear and kept me thinking about the idea of an epilogue. However, it's my own fault that this is the specific idea that popped into my head and wouldn't let go. It sprang from my awareness that, considering that the boys' relationship included rimming during their first time, and spanking within a matter of weeks, they wouldn't have left many stones unturned in the four years they've been together. This made me wonder just what kinks they hadn't tried yet, and this sprang to mind. I hope this satisfies everyone who wanted to see the boys a bit more settled, and forgive me for the pearls when you get to that point. I have to do something to keep myself entertained when there aren't horcruxes and potions to take up space.
> 
> 2\. This really is just a little piece of silly smut, folks, so please don't expect high literature. Or even decency. We'll both be much happier if you go into this thinking it will suck.
> 
> 3\. Once more, I am not making money from this. I only wish I were.

 

The regulars in The Three Broomsticks knew them all by now. Even if they hadn’t visited a hundred times as students, most of them were heroes now, well known for being at the Battle of Hogwarts, and Neville and Draco, in particular, could barely go anywhere without being recognized.

People hardly ever gave Neville a hard time anymore, although he always got smiles and pats on the arm.

Draco, on the other hand, still had to deal with people jumping out of bushes to get photos.

Such was the life of a rich businessman and war hero who was also the long-term partner of Harry Potter.

So it was probably no surprise that they came to the Three Broomsticks instead of someplace more posh in London. Here they were far less likely to be disturbed. People here were used to them, well over the drama and excitement of seeing semi-famous ex-students.

Draco was considering buying the next round. Hermione and Ginny and Lavender were just this side of drunk, but Neville and Seamus could hold their liquor a bit better. Draco was only on his second, a couple of rounds behind. He wanted to be relatively sober. He had plans for tonight.

“I’m telling you,” Hermione was saying to Lavender, “It’s not the same charm at all. This one doesn’t _pull_ the hair out. It cuts it slightly below the surface. It doesn’t hurt at all.”

“Trust her,” Ginny said. “I’ve never been so smooth in such sensitive places.”

Draco frowned, noticing the way the boys were very determinedly ignoring the girls to discuss Quidditch. He was legitimately torn about which conversation to follow, as he would normally prefer a bit of Quidditch discussion, but was mildly intrigued by the idea of removing all his pubic hair just to see the look on Harry’s face.

He leaned back in his chair, taking a small sip of his scotch. He was surprisingly tired for eight pm; he didn’t sleep well alone, and it had been two weeks since Harry, Weasel, and the rest of the task force had gone overseas.

It wasn’t always easy, Draco mused, to find time to be together. Harry’s schedule was even more ridiculous than Draco’s, and Draco routinely put in fourteen hour days. Longer, even, when Harry was out of town, which he frequently was. There had been times, in fact, when they’d go for a week and only meet up in bed at night.

Of course, that was where they did their best work, so if they were only going to find an hour, that was the place to do it. So to speak.

One day, he told himself, things would slow down. Draco wouldn’t feel the need to push and expand and surpass the heights his father had scaled. Harry wouldn’t feel the need to push and corral and conquer darkness in the men and women around him. Then they could come back to each other for more than a day here or a week there. They would be still, and quiet, and together.

One day, he thought, his lips twisting. Just not yet. There were too many heights to scale and too much darkness to conquer.

Sometimes he couldn’t help wondering if they were stupid as fuck for putting it off for the sake of money and pride and dark wizards and duty. Anytime he went more than a day or so without Harry’s arms around him, actually.

When the pub door opened and slapped shut, Draco glanced up to see a familiar face. He smiled at the sound of Weasel’s voice, though not only because he was happy to see the redhead. Really, it was more about the heat already moving through him.

“Home sweet home,” Weasel called, and Hermione jumped up to hug him. Ginny, on Draco’s other side, smoothly got up and went around, ostensibly to hug her brother, but really just getting out of the way.

“He’s just behind me,” Weasel said to Draco warningly.

The pub door opened and shut once more, admitting someone else.

Draco carefully put his drink aside and began to slide his chair back in preparation.

Then Harry was on him, yanking him out of his chair with a growl and slamming him against the wall. Draco barely had time to gasp. Fingers clenched in his hair, dragging his head back, and then a hot, hungry mouth was on his, desperate and needy. Draco opened to it, admitting a demanding tongue, letting Harry do as he liked, kissing back eagerly. Hips pressed against him, keeping the wall hard at his back, and Draco shuddered against the erection that slid within the hollow of his hip. Harry slanted his mouth, demanding more, and Draco gave it willingly.

 _Whatever you want,_ he thought dimly.

*

Ron sighed, looking up at his friends snogging against the wall like they hadn’t seen each other in years rather than only two weeks. “I knew that was going to happen. I knew it. Make Draco meet you at home, I said. You know how you get, I said. And he goes, no, it'll be fine, I don't want to wait. And here we bleeding are. They’re a right spectacle.”

Hermione shook her head. “It's just like the time at the Burrow.”

“That was awkward,” Ron admitted.

“ _This_ is awkward,” Seamus said, and snorted.

Lavender took a last swig of her butterbeer. “What happened that time at the Burrow?”

Ron gestured to the two boys still furiously making out. “It's pretty much what you're looking at. Only with a mother present.” He shuddered. Mrs. Weasley had been pleased at first, finding it romantic, and then she’d slowly begun to get a little concerned. Finally, she’d resorted to hitting Harry with a broom and telling him to learn some decorum.

Lavender sighed. “I think it's sweet.”

Seamus snorted again. “I think it's ridiculous.”

“I think it's time for them to go home,” Neville said. “Oi! Potter! Watch where you're putting your hands!”

“It was so much better when they were trying to kill each other,” Seamus said.

Ginny snickered when all of the chatter did nothing to interrupt the kissing. She and Neville had seen it a few times before. She raised her voice. “Are you two leaving then? Or shall we clear a place on the table for you?”

“It wouldn't be the first time,” Hermione said darkly. Ginny’s head snapped up.

“Oh?” she asked. “I’ve not heard this one.”

“Do tell,” Lavender said.

“Please don't,” Ron said, sounding pained.

With the air of a man trying desperately to ignore the fact that he was drowning, Seamus asked, “How was France, Ron?”

“Yes,” Neville said. “Tell us every single last detail. Please.”

“These joint task force things are killers,” Ron said. “Having to negotiate jurisdiction with the French? I mean, our contact spoke English, sort of, and it was still a nightmare. I’ll be happy to sleep in my own bed.”

Meanwhile, Hermione had leaned in and was saying conspiratorially, “Let’s just say it was in the kitchen and there was lots of crashing and moaning.”

Seamus, a little louder, said, “Successful, though? Catch all the bad guys?”

“We’re good,” Ron added. “The international ring of evildoers is kaput. Harry’s usually shit for surveillance—too recognizable—but he’s getting better at those glamours. This dumb bastard, though. Once we catch the guy, all he wants is Harry’s autograph.”

Ginny checked her fingernails, listening to Hermione closely while appearing very casual and uninterested. “So other people were present at the time, were they?”

Hermione pursed her lips. “If you count me and Ron. For part of it, anyway, because we were all eating. We were…taken aback, let’s say.”

Ron sighed, giving up and passing a resigned glance at Lavender. “It was far more than I'd ever thought I’d have to put up with.”

Seamus glared. “More than I want to hear about.” His eyes found Draco and Harry, still kissing. “Or see.”

Ginny still managed to look as if she were relatively bored with the subject even as she hung on every word. “Was there nudity? I bet there was nudity.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “I can honestly say that my life is not improved by knowing what Harry can do with his mouth.”

Lavender chirped, “I don’t really mind knowing.” She glanced slyly at Draco and Harry, her peek not nearly as subtle as Hermione’s and Ginny’s. “Do go on.”

Seamus looked heavenward. “Please don’t.”

Lavender whispered back lustily, “Was it hot?”

Hermione shot a look at Ron, who stared back at her with his eyebrows raised. “Noooo,” she said. “Nope. Not even a little bit.”

“That means it _was,”_ Lavender sighed happily. “I can see it now.”

“You’re looking right at it,” Seamus said, sounding annoyed. “Why am I hearing this? Seriously.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Jeez, Harry, mind the hands, mate. You’re in public.”

Lavender gave the entire table a big grin. “If we’re quiet, do you think they’ll forget we’re here?”

In unison, Ron and Hermione said, “Yes.”

Seamus looked at Ron beseechingly. “Make them stop.”

Ron sighed. “It’s always my job. Why is it always my job?” Then, raising his voice, he said, “Damn, Draco looks good, Harry! You mind sharing? Let’s see him.”

With a growl, Harry lifted his head. “Mine.”

Ron made a face. “Knew that’d do it.”

“Time to go home, mate,” Neville said, and Harry blinked blurrily, looking around as if he had, indeed, forgotten where he was. Then he looked back into the face of the boy grinning slyly up at him, and turned, dragging Draco into the aisle and throwing him easily over his shoulder. He hauled the other boy out to assorted cat-calls and whistles from the crowd, and Draco just laughed in the general direction of the floor.

Ron puffed up, a little proud of himself. “I should write a how-to book, yeah? How to make Harry Potter stop snogging Draco Malfoy in public.”

Lavender sighed happily. “He’s so possessive, isn’t he?”

Ron and Hermione sighed darkly, then said in unison, “You’ve no idea.”

Neville sighed resignedly. “I suppose I’m picking up Draco's tab.”

Ginny sighed sadly. “No one ever throws me over their shoulder.”

Seamus grinned. “Cheer up, Gin. Get a few more rounds in you and I’ll throw you over my shoulder.”

“You’ll drop her,” Neville said.

“That’s what the drinks are for,” Seamus said. “So she’ll bounce when she hits the floor.”

*

The crack of apparition. Cool air. Dampness. The world tilted, and Draco realized faintly that he was lying down, with the heavy, demanding weight of Harry firmly on top of him. An erection came to rest against his, and Draco’s back arched. This was what he’d been missing. This was what he needed. Everything in him ached, burned, craved. He was moving without thought now, rising to the hands that cupped his buttocks, tilting him up. Hips rutted against his own, even as forceful lips worried and bit at his neck and earlobe, far too hard for pleasure, but Draco only turned his head to give better access. _Mark me,_ he thought, and shuddered.

The hands on his arse tightened, yanking, and Harry drove and slid and rocked until Draco thought he’d lose his mind. The angle was all right, but it wasn’t enough, not yet, and the hot breath at his ear was driving him mad. His eyes squeezed tightly closed, and he moaned, a pleading, needy sound, and his legs spread of their own volition. Harry shifted, sliding between them, lining their hips up anew, and there it was, the sweet friction he’d needed. Draco bucked, making a whining sound that would’ve embarrassed him at any other time.

“Please, please, please,” he chanted, lifting and lowering. Harry was kissing him again even as he begged, hands bruising him, the force of his thrusts sliding them forward, and it was building, so fast and hard, from deep in his balls, his cock heavy and hard and aching, and close, so close, gods so close. He gasped, pleaded, whimpered, shaking and clutching like a wild thing, and he could hear Harry in his ear: _that’s it, move for me, beg me, that’s right little cat, show me what I do to you, what I make you, eager little thing, look how badly you need it, you’d do anything right now, wouldn’t you, anything I asked you’d do, my sweet little slut, lift those pretty hips, show me how badly you need it, ask me nicely._

“Please, Harry, let me come,” Draco begged, and Harry chuckled, low and pleased in his ear, the sound sliding down Draco’s spine like warm water, all the way down to add to the impossible pressure in his balls. He couldn’t stop moving, couldn’t stop the shameless clinging, and didn’t care.

“Fuck yes, little cat. Come.”

Draco stopped fighting it and his orgasm hit hard. His head dropped back even as he shoved his erection violently against Harry’s, even as he cried out, even as everything stopped and went dark, everything vanishing except for the pleasure skating sharply through him, and the warmth and weight and force of Harry everywhere else.

Then Harry was sinking his teeth back into Draco’s neck, his fingers yanking Draco up so that they crashed together, and then he was shouting and coming and biting and shaking.

They breathed in silence for a time. Draco’s neck hurt like a motherfucker, and his whole body tingled pleasantly, and he couldn’t bring himself to move, no matter how dry his mouth was.

It had been four years, he thought, half amused, half amazed. How had this impossible need for Harry not gone yet?

*

After a time, Harry lazily opened his eyes. He could lie here forever, he thought, just holding Draco close and listening to him breathe.

Too much time gone, he thought, resolving that he would never leave for as long as two weeks again. Three days was manageable; a week tended to turn him into “a proper arsehole” (as Ron often said), but two weeks of this distance was unbearable. Harry got too lost in it, just as he always done, lost in the hateful minds and dark magic, lost in the horrors of what people could do to each other. He needed Draco, needed him alive and warm and sarcastic and sly and trying to hide how sweet he could be.

Draco kept the madness at bay.

Funny that his talisman against the darkness would be a former Death Eater, he thought.

“Why are we on the lawn?” Draco asked, adorably perplexed, staring up at stars.

“Too far to the house,” Harry said, his voice sounded thick and satiated. Made sense. Harry felt properly boneless and happy for the first time in two weeks.

“It’s like twenty more feet.”

“Too far.”

“The grass is wet.”

“Don’t be a baby.”

“I’ll have grass stains.”

Harry chuckled. “Probably.”

With a scowl, Draco sat up, running his hands over his legs, brushing off damp leaves and things. “You’re very inconsiderate of my wardrobe, you know.”

“If your shirts want to survive, they should probably learn to get out of my way when they see me coming.”

“Usually it’s my trousers that see you coming.”

Harry laughed. “Can you walk yet?”

“If properly motivated. Why?”

“Because I’m going to put you in the shower, and then I’m thinking I might bend you over the chaise longue in your parents’ sitting room.”

“Well, hell, let’s just skip the shower.”

“You have grass in your hair.”

A horrified gasp. “I do not!”

Harry laughed again, even as Draco sprang to his feet, hands going to the back of his head. “Easy, brat,” Harry said, touching his cheek gently with a single finger. “You could have mud coating your whole body and you’d still be beautiful.”

“It’s _tacky_ ,” Draco snapped.

“It’s sexy,” Harry corrected. “I like it, because it means I mussed you up. It means you wanted me so badly that, for a few minutes anyway, your need for me overrode those prissy pureblood sensibilities of yours.”

“Don’t be a bitch,” Draco said, but he sounded mollified. “Now are you coming with me? This prissy pureblood isn’t going to fuck himself.”

Harry followed, enjoying the view of Draco’s arse as he listened to the other boy muttering with annoyance. “Ew, I’m all sticky.”

“How’d it go with the Rat Bastard?” Harry asked, climbing the stairs with legs still slow and stupid with post-coital weakness.

“Oh, as you’d expect,” Draco said, tugging at his ripped shirt. “Dammit, Harry, it wasn’t just the buttons this time. Do try to be more careful, will you?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Harry said. “So he caved?”

“By ten percent. He’s pathetically bad at negotiation. You’d think he was a Hufflepuff, not a Ravenclaw.”

“He could be a Slytherin and you’d still murder him with one hand tied behind your back.”

Draco glanced back, cheeks pink with pleasure, a soft, crooked smile blooming. “You’re charming. Do the dark wizards ever see your fuzzy side?”

“Just the ones that look as good as you.”

“None of them, then.” Draco nodded definitively. “Good. Anyway. Rat Bastard then signed the contracts, whining all the while about monopolies and wisdom and how it wasn’t a good idea for young men to be in charge of multi-national conglomerates, and _I said_ that young men who made old men cry like little girls could do whatever the fuck they felt like doing. Have you eaten, or should I get Miffy to make something?”

“I’m fine. So how the hell did that guy get to be the head of one of the most prestigious wizarding galleries in England?” They turned into the master suite and began to strip. A clump of dirt fell out of Draco’s hair and Harry laughed at the horrified look on his face.

“Nepotism,” Draco said, staring at the clump. “He’s married to the daughter of old Burningham.”

“You say that like nepotism is a bad thing,” Harry said, raising an eyebrow.

“Inheritance is not the same thing as nepotism,” Draco said, not amused. He resumed undressing.

“Of course not, darling.”

Draco stopped with one shoe off and glared up at him. “We talked about that one.”

“We did, yes.”

“I thought you were going to stop.”

“I never said that.”

“’Darling’ is what you call a 1950s Muggle housewife. I watch _Mad Men_. I am not a 1950s Muggle housewife, Harry.”

“You don’t care for the 1950s?” Harry asked.

“Arse.”

“For what it’s worth, I could appreciate a little 1950s Muggle housewife action.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“I still have one more turn,” Harry pointed out.

“You do not. You’re not counting the Egyptian Pharaoh mess.”

“And I have no intention of doing so. I was not a satisfied customer.”

“You’re the one who bought the headdress!” Draco snapped.

“Doesn't apply. Would you take your pants off already?”

“You take your pants off!”

Harry did, then reached over and yanked the gray boxer briefs down the slender hips. “Into the shower. I think I see a spider in your hair.”

Draco’s yelp and dash made Harry laugh. Seconds later he heard the water turn on and he followed, padding naked into the bathroom. Already steam was starting.

“Cripes, you and your million degree showers.”

Draco was already dripping wet. “It’s my shower, I’ll have it how I like. Even if I scorch my skin bright red.”

“Everything about you is mine, including your skin,” Harry said, reaching into the near-blistering water and running a hand over Draco’s arm. “Everything.”

Despite the temperature, Draco shivered. “You got him, didn’t you? You’re in entirely too good a mood for the surveillance to have failed.”

“Got him.”

“Did you shine a _Lumos_ into his face while you were questioning him like I asked?” Draco was sudsing his hair, running his fingers gingerly through it as if he expected a spider to drop out at any moment.

“Yes, but both he and Ron thought I was mad.”

Draco laughed. “If you’re going to be an Auror, Potter, you have to learn the ways of the old detectives. It’s like in _L.A. Confidential_.”

“For a man who runs several dozen businesses and charities, you manage to watch a lot of telly.”

“I’d have less free time if you were around to fuck me more.” Draco began to rinse his hair, taking great care to flex his arms at the same time, sliding a crafty glance in Harry’s direction to make sure he was watching.

Which he was, of course. But Harry pretended not to be. “I’ve never seen _L.A. Confidential_.”

“Peasant. It’s a murder mystery set in the 1950s.”

“Are there housewives?” Harry asked, grinning.

“No, just prostitutes.”

“Sounds disappointing. I’m much more in the mood for housewives.”

“I’m not dressing up like a housewife,” Draco said flatly.

“Oh, good, you’re open to discussion.”

“I love your ability to hear exactly what you want to, no matter how much it deviates from reality.” Draco scrubbed soap and a flannel across his chest and shoulders. Harry had filled out in recent years, putting on muscle with his Auror work, but Draco had remained slim and elegant. Just now his pale hair was darkened by the water, and the heat had brought a flush to his cheeks. He looked, quite honestly, pretty damn edible.

“Aw. I love you too, darling," Harry managed to say, watching droplets of water slide down naked flesh.

Draco finished rinsing soap and slid out of the way so Harry could have the spray.

“Could be fun,” Harry said thoughtfully. “You liked the Scottish Highlander thing.”

“How is that remotely the same thing?”

“They both have skirts.”

“A kilt is not a skirt, idiot.”

“Sort of. Remember the whole easy-access part? That was nice.”

Draco stood uncertainly, eyes narrowed. Harry knew he’d liked that part, and pushed accordingly. “Just reached right under, smooth as you like, didn’t I?”

“That’s different.”

“Maybe we could get you a little apron.” Harry was liking this idea more and more. It was all too easy to imagine those long, slender legs bare beneath a frilly skirt. Draco had small, nearly delicate feet with slim ankles; they’d look absolutely fantastic in a pair of high heels. Black, Harry thought. No, red. And how did women know how tall a shoe was? Probably inches. Was four a lot? Or maybe three was better. He didn’t want Draco to trip and break anything. Although he rather thought Draco would take to walking in heels nicely. The brat had the hips for it. And his shoulders weren’t all that broad, for all their lean strength, so the right kind of dress would be downright sexy on him. Something with puffed sleeves, maybe.

He rinsed the last of the soap off, feeling his cock beginning to harden again.

“It isn’t going to happen,” Draco warned. “Why don’t we try the Egyptian thing again? I’ll cast a sticking charm this time. Why not do that?”

“Because I want a housewife. It’s been a long time since anyone baked me a cake.”

“Make Kreacher do it,” Draco said sourly.

“I want you to do it. I could buy you some pearls, little cat.”

“Shut your face, please.”

“Mmm, yeah, pearls. And you could meet me at the door with a martini and call me darling.”

Draco stomped his foot, kicking up water and making Harry smirk. He really was beautiful when he was pouting, particularly since he already knew Harry was going to make him do it.

“Come here,” Harry said softly.

“No. Don’t you have a mission to go on? Go catch a bad guy or something.”

“Come here.”

“No! You’re being mean.”

Harry laughed. “Am I? I’m sorry, little cat. Why don’t you come here and I’ll make it up to you.”

“No!” Draco wailed. “If I do, you’ll just fuck me until I say yes, and then I’ll end up dressed like a girl!”

“That’s the general idea,” Harry agreed. “Are you going to come here and get this over with, or am I going to have to chase you?”

Draco made a pathetic little sound, almost making Harry feel sorry for him. Almost. But they'd performed this dance countless times now, and Draco knew perfectly well how to put his foot down. It just so happened that sometimes he preferred to be convinced. Sometimes he needed gentling. Soothing. So Harry took Draco’s resistant hand and drew him under the water. “Come now, little cat. You owe me. The deal was five outfits.”

“I didn’t know you were going to pick a housewife,” Draco said, but allowed Harry to turn him so he could wash his back. “And the Egyptian Pharaoh was the last one!”

“The Egyptian Pharaoh does not count. Do you remember how badly I burned my tongue? And I think you’ve gotten off easy so far, considering what you made me do.”

Draco’s pouting was instantly gone in a wave of enthusiasm. “Come on, it’s brilliant! Movies and telly for the Wizarding World!” Draco put on a heavily formal and serious voice like those that aired during previews in theaters, and said, “’All you need is the patented Malfoy Melodrama Maker and you can watch the portraits enact the story in the privacy of your own home!’” He cackled like a mad billionaire—which he sort of was.

Harry had to admit, Draco’s idea to invent the wizarding equivalent of a telly was rather ingenious. Each week, the studio’s source portrait’s inhabitants would learn the lines given to them by a writer and perform the episode, and because of the Protean Charm that Draco had learned from Hermione, what occurred on the source portrait was replicated on any individually-owned portrait keyed to it. So far, they’d sold thousands of the keyed portraits, and the quality of the programming was going up every day as the figures in the portraits finished their acting classes.

“While we’re speaking of nepotism,” Harry said, only partially placated by the feel of Draco’s smooth skin under his fingertips. “I’m so happy I could help.”

“Yes, the only reason I gave the endorsement to you, Harry Potter, was because you’re my lover,” Draco said dryly. “It would’ve been more helpful if Portrait Harry hadn’t been constantly trying to run out of frame during the cameo.”

“Portrait Harry gave the speech, didn’t he? I held up my end of the deal. Now it’s your turn,” Harry said, grinning. “So shut up. I’m getting ready to do some of best work here.”

Draco snorted, even as he leaned back into Harry’s hands, which worked down from his shoulders to the sensitive spot just above his buttocks. “And you say I’m the whiner.”

“I’m not the one arguing over a skirt.” Harry leaned in, tasted the spot just beneath Draco’s ear, enjoying the shiver he coaxed out of the other boy. “And it’ll be a hell of a skirt, little cat. It’ll go down to your knees. And it’ll be full and floaty. When you spin it’ll fly up a little. Tempting. And plenty of fabric for me to get my hands under.”

“You’re a chauvinist.”

“Don’t worry, darling, it’s only for you.” Harry let his hands wander around to Draco’s front, stroking up the ladder of ribs, across pink nipples that tightened, across the ridges of hip bones. His mouth found the back of Draco’s neck. “Christ, you’re sweet.”

Draco’s head fell forward, letting Harry mouth and lick across the pale skin as much as he liked. “Picture it,” Harry whispered. “Think of how pretty you’d look. Long and lean and slender. We could get you some pink pants to go under, something with black lace. Maybe some garters? Fuck, that’s hot.”

“It’s not going to happen.”

“You owe me, little cat.” Harry used one hand to grasp Draco’s chin, pulling his head back and exposing his throat. From behind him, Harry bit gently down on the bruise he’d left earlier while they’d frotted outside. “Mmm, you’re going to walk into that board meeting tomorrow wearing this, and everyone will know that Harry Potter fucked you and marked you.”

Draco shuddered. “Yes,” he whispered.

“But they’ll never know about the rest of it. The dress you’ll wear for me, just because I want you to, just because you want to please me. And you’ll be so perfect in it. Delicate. Beautiful. You like it when I think you’re beautiful, don’t you?”

That was all the time, Harry had to admit, but saying it now wouldn’t help his case. And besides…

“You always think I’m beautiful,” Draco replied, breathy and smug at the same time.

Besides, Harry thought wryly, Draco already knew. He plucked at the little nipples, biting down on the slope of shoulder just in front of him since it was there. Draco moaned.

“Well, it’s true. But you’ll be beautiful in a different way. You’ll be softer. More deferential. I’ll have you sit on my lap and I’ll feed you strawberries and sips from my martini, and I’ll reach under your skirt right there at the table.”

“No,” Draco said, but really it was more of a moan, and really, Harry thought with a smile, it was very nearly a yes. The pert buttocks were rubbing back against Harry’s hard cock now, helpless and insistent.

“Yes,” Harry murmured. “Under the skirt, right there. And I’ll touch you, little cat. Slow and gentle at first. Just your knee and your thigh. Teasing.”

“I won’t do it.”

“You will.” Harry’s fingers mimicked what he described, stroking up the long legs toward slim hips. “You like it already. Look at you. Hard and dripping.”

“I’m dripping because we’re in the shower,” Draco muttered, then groaned. Harry had reached his balls.

“You’ll spread your legs and lean back against me. You’ll let me do this right there at the table. I’ll pull your little skirt up and hold your cock, pulling just enough to keep you hard, but I won’t let you come.”

“Harry,” Draco moaned, rocking under the touch.

“I’ll put my mouth on your throat, just above your pearls. Do you know what a pearl necklace is, Draco?”

“It’s jewelry, you prat.”

Harry grinned. “Sure. I’ll make sure you get one.”

“Shut up.”

“Nah, I think I’ll go back to what I was saying before. Your cock seems to like it.”

“Does not.”

“Ssh, I’m getting to the good stuff. Now then, once you’re hard and dripping, I’ll sit you up, make you turn around.” He turned now, aiming Draco toward the shower wall. The other boy gasped at the feel of cool tile against his chest and belly. “You’ll be facing me. And you’ll get down on your knees like a proper 1950s housewife should.”

“This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” Draco said, his hips bucking against Harry’s cock as Harry pressed up behind him. Harry reached up, took the lube off the shower caddy—they had shower sex down to a science—and shook his wet hair out of his face.

“You’re down on your knees,” Harry continued, “in your frilly dress, being a good little housewife.”

“You have issues with gender stereotypes,” Draco said.

“You’re not talking in my fantasy,” Harry reminded him. “Your mouth is full.”

Draco gave a strangled laugh. “Apologies.”

“Accepted. So, as you’re on your knees, you’ll be sucking and licking and working my cock, and I’ll touch your hair and tell you how pretty you look. You’ll need some lipstick, I think.”

“Harry,” Draco moaned, part in protest, part in gratitude, because just then Harry pushed a slick finger inside him.

“You’re tight,” Harry said roughly.

“It’s been two weeks,” Draco said. “If you don’t like it, travel less.”

“But you’re sucking me right in. I’m not the only one who missed this.”

“No, you’re not,” Draco admitted quietly.

“Little cat,” Harry murmured, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “Sweet boy. Now spread your damn legs already.”

Draco laughed, obeying, and so was rewarded with a second finger. He arched slightly, letting his forehead hit the tile with a thunk. “You were saying?”

“Ah, so we don’t mind that so much anymore?”

“Just shut up and talk. No lipstick.”

Harry smirked. “Definitely lipstick. Think how sexy you look with eyeliner. Lipstick will be just as good. And you’ll suck me deep, tilting your head until I’m in your throat. And maybe I’ll fuck your mouth a little then. You want me to hold you still while I fuck your mouth?”

Draco made a nonsensical sound, pushing his buttocks back as Harry added a third finger. The tight ring of muscle rebelled, tense and resistant. Draco always reverted to tightness quickly, something that Harry didn’t mind in the least. He loved the act of opening Draco up for his cock. It was one of very few rewards of international task forces.

“Yes, I thought so,” Harry said. He was panting slightly, easing in and out of Draco’s slick channel, moving patiently even if he felt ready to just thrust in. Harry refused to hurt him, at least, not like this. The welts from their last spanking were already long gone; Harry would work on renewing those tomorrow.

“I’ll have you suck me for a nice, long time,” Harry muttered, trying to keep control. “Then, when I’m ready, I’ll have you slide those pink pants off and straddle me. We’ll get your skirt out nice and full around us, and then I’ll slide my cock up into you.”

“No preparation?” Draco asked, then bucked against Harry’s hand as Harry hit his prostate. “Oh, _fuck_ , yes.”

“If that’s how you’d like it,” Harry said, willfully misunderstanding. It was a fantasy after all; he'd only taken Draco without preparation in real life once, back at Grimmauld Place. “I’ll stretch you with my cock, ease in so nice and slow, make you take me. You’ll probably be sore before we’re done. You’ll feel me with every step for a week.”

Draco moaned again, and his body abruptly slumped against Harry’s, desperate and needy and empty. Harry clenched his teeth and took a deep breath, his cock pounding with sudden wild need.

He couldn’t get enough of Draco melting. Twenty years from now it would still drive him insane.

And he couldn’t wait any longer. He moved his fingers, slicked himself up and tugged Draco back a few steps while pushing his upper body forward so that he was bent over, his face resting against his forearms on the wall. He pushed the head of his cock in, grunting, his entire body going rigid at the overwhelming tightness and heat. Draco cried out, moving tensely forward, and Harry soothed him with a hand on his buttock.

“It’s all right, little cat. I’ll go slowly. You can take it.”

Draco panted. Harry watched as his cock slowly disappeared into the pink ring of Draco’s arse, marveling—not for the first time—at how such a slim body managed to take all of Harry inside.

“Easy,” Harry whispered, moving without haste but not stopping.

“Harry,” Draco cried. “Please.”

“Please what?” Harry’s eyes rolled back in his head as Draco’s arse involuntarily clenched. “You need me to stop?”

“Fuck me,” Draco said, voice rough and frantic. “Fuck me now.”

And Harry did so. He braced his feet on the shower floor (set with light sticking charms once a month), and rocked in and out in long, smooth strokes.

“You’ll sit on my lap and move on me,” Harry managed. “You’ll take it all, Draco. Like you’re taking me now. Just think about how perfect it will be. You’ll look so innocent, but you’ll be fucking like a whore, your hair coming loose, your mouth open, lipstick just a little bit smeared. Coming apart on my cock. Just like now.”

Draco _was_ coming apart. “Harder,” he was whispering. “Faster. Harder. Please, Harry.” He writhed, pressing back and helping Harry impale him. He bucked and twisted and shoved against the wall, and it was all Harry could do to force those impatient hips to still.

“Fucking like your life depends on it,” Harry gasped. He sped up, a daring move considering he was already starting to feel the orgasm gathering in his belly. “Up and down, bouncing and begging, and I’ll reach under your skirt and tug on your cock.”

He mimed the move, reaching down and around, loving the way Draco tightened and jerked and threw his head down. Harry tugged, just as he’d said, and at the same time began thrusting harder, really ramming in, just the way Draco liked it, directly into that perfect spot. Draco was a wild thing beneath him, and Harry bit his lip. He couldn’t let either of them come until Draco said yes.

“Would you like that, little cat? You want to come on my cock while you’re wearing a skirt?”

“Yes,” Draco cried, “Please, Harry. Please, let me. Whatever you want. Please.”

Harry grinned, a smile that was probably quite animalistic. “Say it again,” he demanded, and his voice had somehow dropped an octave. “Say it again, Draco. Now.”

“Whatever you want,” Draco cried, violently shoving back on Harry’s cock, then tilting his hips forward with just as much force, thrusting into Harry’s hand. He was shaking, knees weak, and Harry wrapped his other arm around him to steady him.

“Come, little cat. Come while you’re thinking about that skirt in my lap.”

Draco convulsed in his arms, warm semen shooting over Harry’s fingers, even as he let out a cry of such utter pleasure that Harry began to come as well. He shoved himself into Draco with vicious force, sending the other boy a step forward, then two, until they were back against the wall and Draco was trembling and loose as Harry pounded inside of him. He shouted and went still, letting the warmth spill away slowly.

“Oh, Merlin,” Draco was murmuring. “Oh, Merlin.”

“You okay?”

“Huh?”

Harry would’ve smiled, but it seemed like entirely too much work at the moment. “Are you okay?”

“Yes?”

“Yeah, I’m not sure either.” Harry supported the other boy as he made himself stand fully upright instead of leaning against the wall. He grasped Draco’s wrist, helping him stay on his feet as Harry walked them both back into the water. It was cooler now, thankfully. He hummed a little as he washed the come off of Draco’s skin and arse with a gentle bit of soap. Then, just because he could, he fingered Draco a bit more, making him give a little moan that was nearly a sob. Harry knelt, licking up into the other boy, tasting the faint remnants of suds and his own come, soothing the tender skin and muscle until he started to get interested in more than comforting and Draco’s moans of contentment were becoming something else. Sleep would be needed before they went again. He rather liked it when Draco woke up with Harry’s cock already in his arse. So he reluctantly trailed his lips back up Draco’s back and stood again.

“Mine,” Harry whispered.

“Yours,” Draco agreed softly.

They made their way quietly through bedtime rituals—teeth brushing, Draco’s ridiculous need to blow-dry his hair rather than charm it dry (apparently a dryer was less likely to make it frizzy), or sleep with it wet, Harry’s paranoid double-checking of the wards. Then they slipped beneath the sheets, so practiced at being with each other that they didn’t need words to know they weren’t quite ready to drift off yet.

“Have you been sleeping?” Draco asked.

“Not so much.”

“Me, either. You ever wonder if it’s worth it? All this time apart, I mean.”

“Every day,” Harry admitted. “You?”

“Yeah. I was thinking about it earlier, actually. What’s your answer?”

“Depends when you ask me.”

“Yeah.” Draco paused. “Yeah, me too.”

“If you ever get fed up, tell me first, all right?”

Draco twisted around to look at him. The sound of the sheets rustling was loud in the quiet room. “Tell you first? What? What does that mean?”

“I just…If it got so bad you’d want…I don’t mean you’d just leave—”

“You’d have to cheat,” Draco said flatly. “Or hit. And since those are the only two ways I would ever leave, it’s clearly never going to happen. I’m yours, Harry. Even if I was feeling abandoned, I wouldn’t leave. I would hunt you down and break your thumbs and make you come home.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Harry sighed, trying to find the words. “If you ever get to the point where you’re unhappy more often than you’re happy, or hell, I don’t know. You ever need more than I’m giving you, I want you to say so. It doesn’t have to be like this. It’s not like before; I’m not the only one who can catch the bad guys this time. I can work in a damn grocery.”

Draco laughed. “Oh, picture that. You’d have little old ladies buying cantaloupe they don’t need just for the chance to try to flatten your hair.”

Harry smiled reluctantly. “My point is that you come first. I told you that when we got back together. I haven’t forgotten, and I still mean it. I want you happy more than anything else. More than I want to be an Auror.”

Draco lifted a hand, used it to tip Harry’s chin down for a kiss. “Same goes, you know? There are properties and sub-divisions and the smaller companies and…fuck, I have a hundred things I can sell to minimize the workload. I can delegate to a whole fleet. There are ways. So if you ever want things to be different…”

“Yeah.”

“Two weeks is hard,” Draco said softly. “That’s a long time apart when we don’t see much of each other even when we’re right here in the same house. But until we’ve done enough that we can be satisfied, that’s something that comes with the territory. We just have to remember to say so when we need more.”

Harry played with his fingers. “It’ll happen eventually, don’t you think?”

“Yeah. Once we’ve rid the world of dark magic and incompetently-managed financial securities, we’ll grow old together without a damn thing of any importance to do. We’ll play Wizard’s Chess at the Bermuda House in caftans. But not today.”

Harry brushed a kiss against his forehead. “Not today.”

Draco nodded, sinking back into place so they could spoon once more. He settled back against Harry’s chest with a sigh of contentment.

“We didn’t make it to the chaise longue,” Harry said after a moment.

“Next time.”

“Yeah.” Harry stroked his fingers up and down Draco’s smooth skin gently. “The Egyptian Pharaoh thing was way too loud, don’t you think?”

Draco sighed. “All right, I’ll wear the damn skirt.”

Harry grinned. “And the apron?”

“Fuck it. Why not?”

“The heels?”

“If I break an ankle…”

“I’ll remove all the evidence before I get a healer. The lipstick?”

“No lipstick. And no garters either,” Draco said.

“Wait until I get my energy back and we can renegotiate.”

“Hard limit.”

“Fair enough,” Harry said, and abandoned the idea of both instantly.

“But I’ll wear the pearl necklace.”

Harry chuckled and pressed a kiss to the other boy’s ear. “I’ll buy you some jewelry, but we’ll have to talk about the rest a bit more before you agree. Tomorrow, though.”

He forgot, sometimes, that Draco didn’t have any sexual experience that Harry hadn’t given him. And even as a very Muggle-friendly pureblood, he still hadn’t realized exactly what the internet was really for, so it made sense he wouldn’t know about the _other_ kind of pearl necklace. Taking that agreement out of context wouldn’t be fair. Harry didn’t mind playing dirty to win, but he was far more careful with consent and shame than he’d been when they first got together. He’d rather stay away from a line than chance crossing it. He wanted Draco happy. He leaned down to whisper, “I love you, little cat.”

“I love you too.” Draco said, slow and sleepy, and found Harry’s hand where it rested on his hip. Draco kissed the fingers before cuddling it close to his chest. “Now shut the hell up. I’m sleeping.”

“Sure,” Harry said easily. The other boy did look tired, and Harry had ridden him rather hard. Twice. Draco did need to get some rest before they could fuck again, Harry thought, then smirked.

An hour ought to do it.


End file.
